She wore the same coat she died in. Her hair tied in the same ribbon. Her fingers blackened from manuscript handling. She looked at him not with hatred, not even pain, but with the detached curiosity.
"You're a fake!" He said, his voice quieter than he expected.
She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made him feel both exposed and insignificant. "You still don't know what you are, do you?" she asked, her voice a perfect mimicry of Mira's, but with an underlying tone that was alien and cold.
Severus clenched his fists. "What do you want from me?"
She stepped forward, and with every movement, the ink on the floor curled away from her feet like afraid thoughts. "You're a footnote pretending to be a protagonist. You were rewritten the moment you met Ashem. You chose doubt, but you never asked what doubt chooses in return."
He looked at her, eyes wet not with emotion, but with the sting of truth. "And you? What are you now?"
"I'm the interpretation of your guilt," she said plainly. "Your memory of me has outlived who I was."
Severus stepped back, his hand reaching for the book in his pocket. The sentence in his mind was a raw wound. It had been a long time since he felt the pain of a broken narrative. It was as if someone had taken a scalpel to his soul and carved out a piece of him that had once been Mira.
Suddenly, a male figure emerged from the shadows, he was tall, with a cloak that billowed around him like the wings of a crow.
As he slowly stepped into the light, Severus recognized him. Lector Baleron. He was dressed in dark geometric armor, with a calligraphic design, a dark cloak, hammered boots and an amulet in the shape of a star.
He was tall in stature, with skin as pale as the unblemished parchment of the ancient texts they sought to protect. His head was bald, a stark contrast to the meticulously groomed beard that framed his chin and cheeks. The beard was a deep, rich brown, each hair perfectly in place. His eyes, though small, were a captivating dark violet, filled with the wisdom of countless narratives. They were the eyes of a man who had seen the fabric of reality torn apart and stitched back together so often that the act had become as mundane as tying his shoes.
"Severus Ezren. Article 134, Subclause 'Contamination through Narrativic Doubt.
You stand accused of recursive self-authoring, illicit redefinition, and emotional authorship without permission." He spoke and his voice echoed throughout the chamber.
He raised the Splitting Quill. The air bent around it like the page before a tear. "Shall we separate you now?" he asked. "Ashem from Severus. Doubt from flesh. The sentence from its subject."
The voice inside Severus spoke up, louder than it had ever been. „Use the Mirror Shard, quickly!"
Lector Baleron's voice rang out loudly, like an announcement. "It's useless! I thought you would know, Ashem."
„Listen Severus!" Ashem's voice sounded... panicked. It was the first time Severus had heard him like that. „Lector Baleron is responsible for the majority of my erasures. You're nothing compared to him. Unseal me and allow me to take over, or you won't make it out alive."
"I can't do that." Severus knew that he would lose control as soon as he released Ashem.
"Good choice, son," Lector Baleron said in a firm voice. "It doesn't have to be painful. Surrender, and I'll end it quickly."
Severus smiled slightly. "You misunderstood, Baldy. Just because I'm not releasing my «Witness» doesn't mean I'm planning to die."
Lector Baleron gasped heavily and rubbed his temple. "And here I thought you were smarter than all the others. And you don't even realize that you're in a total disadvantage."
Severus shrugged his shoulders. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, and the air around his fingertips shimmered. "The way I see it, we are each other's greatest weakness, opposing archetypes. You the «Believer» and I the «Doubter»."
The Lector sneered, raising his Splitting Quill. "Well, look at that, somebody is familiar with the Twenty-four Principal Archetypes. Very good, son."
With a swift motion, Lector Baleron sent a bolt of divine truth hurtling towards Severus, aiming for the heart of his doubt. The shimmering projectile zipped through the air, leaving a trail of crackling energy in its wake. Severus's eyes widened, but instead of dodging, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a page from his book. The runes on the page began to pulse, and he flung it into the path of the incoming truth.
The page exploded in a burst of shadowy confetti, the dark energy clashing with the divine light. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling through the air, knocking the spectral Witnesses off balance, their pages fluttering like a flock of startled birds. Severus took the opportunity to sprint forward, his boots echoing off the ancient tiles.
Lector Baleron, unfazed by the counterattack, raised his hand and summoned a Dogma Chain. The chain, made of pure light, shot towards Severus like a serpent seeking its prey. Severus dove to the side, his coat flapping behind him like a cape. The chain struck the ground where he had been standing, sending sparks flying and leaving a deep groove in the stone.
He rolled to his feet and saw the Lector charging another attack. The room grew brighter as the light grew in intensity. This time, it was the Blasphemiebrand, a fiery blast that sought to consume all in its path. Severus threw up his hand, and the air around him shimmered. He had created a Mirror Doubt, reflecting the fire back at Baleron. The Lector stumbled back, his eyes wide with surprise. The room was now bathed in a flickering orange glow, casting dancing shadows across the bound books.
"I have to admit, I'm surprised. You're more skilled than I expected." Baleron's voice was full of respect. "Yet... you are far from being Ashem's strongest interpreter."
Baleron's next move was swift and decisive. He slammed the butt of the Splitting Quill into the ground, and the books around them began to tremble.
Severus felt the power of the divine order pulse through the air. His movements grew sluggish, as if he were wading through a sea of thick ink.
"Your reality is a lie," Baleron said with a grim smile. "You're living in a story that shouldn't be yours, and I'm going to correct that."
Severus felt the weight of the world press down on him, the air thick with the stench of divine judgment. Baleron's next strike was swift, a blast of white-hot fire that danced around the room, seeking to burn away the shadows of doubt. Severus rolled, narrowly avoiding the blaze, his eyes never leaving the Lector.
Lector Baleron's eyes narrowed, and he recited an incantation, his hand glowing with a divine aura. The shackles of the Dogma Chain snaked through the air, seeking to entwine Severus. With a swift sidestep and a flicker of his own power, Severus dodged the incoming restraints. They clattered to the floor, their light briefly illuminating the ancient tomes around them.
With a flick of his wrist, Severus summoned a shadowy copy of himself. The copy dashed forward, a blur of dark intent. It was a mere illusion, but it had enough presence to make Lector Baleron hesitate, his eyes flicking between the two figures. Severus used the distraction to his advantage, closing the distance between them.